Simon Says

Mr. Simon Cowell, of "American Idol" fame, asserts that he is bigger than Bruce Springsteen. This because he has, by his own estimation, either produced or somehow been associated with records that have chalked up sales of a million billion copies (or maybe slightly fewer). And thus, he told "60 Minutes" last night, he deserves to be the Boss, and not Bruce.

Born to run ... off at the mouth

To which I bet Bruce would say, Sure, fine. it's all yours. That's my sense of things, anyway. That Springsteen is far more interested in writing songs and expressing some creative vision that might inspire and/or move and/or affect other people. Whereas Simon is a canny marketeer who knows exactly how effective saying extremely mean and/or outrageous things are when it comes to getting attention. One case in point being this very blog entry. D'oh!

Speaking of visions: Saw the Portland Trail Blazers sort of shuffle through 48 minutes (actually 42, we left partway through thee 4th when the writing had dried on the wall...) of near-professional basketball last night, and it was kind of an enervating experience. This despite the best efforts of the boy sitting behind me, who kept screaming "ZEBO!" or "ZEEE-BOH!" and "Zeee-BOH!" or when things were truly dire "PUT IN ZEBO!" toward the floor. Which was a ways off, since we were up in the 300 level. But he had a shrill, strong voice, and so who knows. Anyway, the best part (maybe the only truly good part) came during a break when they dragged out this guy to make a desperate hail Mary shot from mid-court in attempts to win a big, shiny new car. So here comes the guy, basically your normal Blazer customer, a middle-aged white guy in golf-centric leisure shirt and jeans. And they hand him the ball, poor sap, and gesture toward the hoop. Various Blazers standing nearby, enormous hands on elongated hips, smiling. As if he had a chance. As if he weren't about to suffer the usual nowhere-near-close humiliation that all these guys suffer. Shooting from halfcourt? Not even M. Jordan could make those, most of the time. And he practiced. Does this guy even get one warm-up shot? No, he doesn't. It's one shot, straight up. All or nothing. So he has the ball. He bounces it. He takes a step forward, gives the ball a mighty shove and sends it flying toward the hoop. It hangs in the air for a long moment, the place gets very quiet. And then...

It goes in. Hits thet backboard, maybe. But doesn't even rattle the hoop. Just zoom, into the net.

The place explodes.

It's like championship-level frenzy, suddenly. Everyone's on their feet. A tremendous roar. The roof seems to quiver. The guy has his fists in the air, the Blazers are laughing, now their gigantic fists are in the air, too. He doesn't tarry at midcourt. He dashes back to the side, where his friends/family must be. He's hugging people, getting slapped on the back. It's one of the most joyful public events I've witnessed in a long, long time. And it feels good.

Particularly at the end of a chilly, flu-infused weekend. Don't ask me why I keep getting sick. I'll hit you, honest, I will. My mood has been grim, to say the nicest possible thing. Out to see "Live Wire" at the Aladdin on Friday night, I'm gasping and wheezing, could barely make it through the show, let alone put in an appearance at their 3rd anniversary party afterwards. Congratulations, though. They do great work on "LW," and you should check it out, if you haven't already. Either on OPB, or via their own website podcasts: livewireradio.org.

Much to get to today, particularly several episodes of "The Shield," to prepare for the new season. So I'll let this go, for now. More soon.